


honeysuckle heart

by fatal_drum



Series: Charity Ficlets 2020 [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Food Kink, Honey, M/M, Scottish cottage honeymoon, Trans Jonathan Sims, Trans Martin Blackwood, emphasis on the honey, strap-on sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29011980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum
Summary: Jon takes Martin's sticky hand between his own, raising it to his lips. Martin can feel his breath against his fingertips. He shudders, and Jon's tongue darts out to taste his skin.Jon has a sweet and unexpected kink.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: Charity Ficlets 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804192
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	honeysuckle heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muddykate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muddykate/gifts).



> Many thanks to Muddy Kate for supporting Rainbow Railroad! I hope you enjoy. <3 And to cuttooth for their excellent beta work! 
> 
> The following words are used to describe Jon and Martin's anatomy: breasts, cock, slit, cunt

One of the first things that strikes Martin about Jon is his neatness. He wears his glossy black hair braided most days, or arranged in an elegant French knot. His clothing is always clean and pressed, without a sign of fraying, his trousers sharply creased. He keeps his nails short and well manicured. His wing-tipped shoes are spotless; Martin is fairly certain he polishes them every night. Even when Jon wears his white dress shirts, he seems immune to the ink stains and dust marks that plague the rest of them. 

Martin—well, Martin  _ tries.  _ But his hair refuses to listen to reason, curling around his shoulders at whatever angles it pleases. And he’s a magnet for messes. All he wants is to look professional, but he’s always spilling tea on himself, or his pens will leak all over his shirt, or Jon will send him into the dustiest shelves after a statement, and soon enough, he’s a rumpled disaster, and Jon is giving him another lecture about “properly representing the Institute to the public.”

“It’s not your fault you don’t iron your undies with starch like Mr. Prim and Proper,” Tim says consolingly.

“That’s not fair,” Martin argues, trying desperately not to think about what Jon wears under his trousers. He’s only mostly successful. 

“If you want, I can show up to work in hot pants and a halter top,” Tim offers. “Then he’ll never complain about your wrinkled jumpers again.”

_ “Don’t  _ encourage him,” Sasha warns. “He’ll do it.”

“I think I’d be doing a service to the community,” Tim preens. 

Martin laughs. “I appreciate the effort, but I think I’ll be alright.”

“If you say so,” Tim says with a pout. 

Sasha frowns, looking down at Martin’s wrist. “You’ve got a bit of ink on your cuff. Here.” She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a stain remover pen, handing it to him.

Martin sighs. “Thanks, Sasha.”

* * *

Things eventually improve between Martin and Jon. At his boldest, Martin might even dare to call them friendly. Maybe it’s because Martin is learning to catch up with his workload. He’s still not sure why Elias assigned him to the archives, though he’s grateful for the opportunity. He was happy enough in the library. Even if the library didn’t have Jon. 

That’s...a bit of a mixed blessing. The problem is, Martin really  _ likes  _ Jon. He likes the way Jon pushes up his glasses when he’s nervous, or fiddles with his pens when he’s bored. He likes how when Jon gets excited they’re talking about something he likes, and he’ll quickly drop every fact he knows on the subject; Martin’s gotten lectures on corpse medicine, wine forgery, and the workings of the London postal system in the late nineteenth century, among other things. He always files those topics away in his mind to research later, in the hopes of impressing Jon with some fact he doesn’t know yet. Martin likes Jon’s hands, and his eyes, and the two moles on the back of his neck that he can only see when Jon’s wearing his hair up. 

In short, Martin’s got it  _ bad,  _ and he knows it. Of course, he also knows he doesn’t have a chance with Jon, and he’s okay with that. He contents himself with doing his best to make sure Jon at least doesn’t work himself into an early grave. 

Like keeping him hydrated. One afternoon he’s making a cup of tea when Jon walks in, making a beeline for the fridge. 

“Good afternoon, Martin,” he says, pulling out a pot of yogurt. 

“Hi, Jon. I was just making some tea, would you like some?”

He was planning to make Jon tea anyway, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. 

“Thanks,” Jon says, grabbing a spoon from the drawer before leaning against the counter to eat.

The kettle doesn’t take long to boil, and soon enough Martin’s pouring hot water over the tea bags. He adds just the right amount of milk, stirring it in before opening the honey. He likes to get the fancy stuff, pretty little glass jars with names of flowers on them; it’s one of his few indulgences. It’s a bit messy, though, which he proves by immediately dripping honey from the spoon. He manages to catch it on his fingers before it hits the counter. 

“Whoops,” he says, sticking his fingers into his mouth. 

When he looks up, Jon is staring at him with an unreadable expression. 

“Are you alright, Jon?” Martin asks, licking the last bit of honey from his fingertips. 

“I’m—fine,” Jon says, hastily grabbing his cup and his yogurt. “Don’t forget the Boyle statement.”

Jon leaves before Martin can reply.

* * *

Martin doesn't understand until much, much later. It happens in Scotland, in Daisy's cramped little kitchen.

"Fancy a cuppa?" he calls to Jon, who's curled up on the sofa with a paperback mystery novel. He always manages to arrange himself in the most improbable positions. Today he's on his back, with his knees curled up and his feet on the back of the sofa. Jon spares him a glance. 

"Sure, thanks."

Martin hums to himself as he sets up the supplies: the special masala chai Jon picked out, a carton of milk, and a jar of honey. Once the tea's steeped, he spoons honey into each mug. A bit drips onto his fingers, and he pops them into his mouth without thinking. 

Martin half turns to offer some biscuits, only to find himself staring directly into Jon's eyes. He jumps, nearly dropping his mug. 

"Jon! You're worse than a cat." he cries. "What are you—?"

Jon takes Martin's sticky hand between his own, raising it to his lips. Martin can feel his breath against his fingertips. He shudders, and Jon's tongue darts out to taste his skin. 

"J-jon…"

Jon sucks Martin's fingers into his mouth, enveloping them in wet heat. Martin goes limp, eyes closed as Jon licks and sucks them clean. By the time Jon’s done, he's so aroused he can barely stand.

"You taste wonderful," Jon murmurs, muffled by Martin's fingertips.

"It's the honey," Martin says weakly.

"It's not just the honey."

Jon releases his fingers, pulling Martin in for a slow, deep kiss. By the end, Martin is squirming, his pants a soaking mess. 

"What brought this on?" he asks.

"I...have a thing." Jon says, burying his head in Martin's shoulder. "About...messes. Food, mainly."

"I thought you hated messes."

"Normal messes, yes. But when it's you…"

Martin flushes so deeply he thinks he might faint. "That's...very specific," he manages. 

"It doesn't...bother you, does it?"

Jon looks so worried, Martin can't help but kiss him.

"No, love. I don't mind at all. I was just a bit surprised." He looks from Jon to the honey. "I have more, if you like."

To his surprise, Jon moans out loud. 

"Tell me what you want," Martin orders.

"I want...to pour it all over you, and lick it off."

"Do you want me to get it on you?"

Jon bites his lip, nodding hard. 

"All yours," Martin says, handing Jon the jar.

"You're...you're sure you don't mind?" Jon asks carefully. 

"I mean, you're definitely doing the wash after, but no. Everyone has kinks."

Jon smiles shyly. His hands shake as he raises the jar over Martin’s body and slowly dribbles the honey down his chest. Martin shivers as it soaks through his shirt. 

“I’ve never done this before, so tell me if you want me to do anything,” Martin says.

Jon’s eyes smolder as he watches the honey drip down Martin’s front. “You’re perfect.” 

He dips two fingers in the mess before raising them to Martin’s lips. Martin thinks that’s as close to an order as he needs, and sucks them gently, licking the pads. They taste incredibly sweet. Jon moans softly before drawing Martin close, fingers smearing sweet stickiness down Martin’s cheek before he leans in for a honey-tinged kiss. Their bodies stick together as the honey soaks into Jon’s clothes as well. 

“I love you,” Jon whispers, licking the honey off his cheek. “So very much.”

“I love you, too,” Martin murmurs. 

Jon’s hands roam Martin’s body, trailing honey everywhere as he squeezes and fondles him. Martin’s glad he didn’t put on his binder; he can’t imagine trying to peel it off when it’s sticky like that. His nipples stand to attention under his shirt as Jon rubs them. 

“Can I take this off?” Jon asks, lifting the hem of Martin’s shirt. Martin’s cock twitches. He likes where this is going. 

“Yes, always,” Martin says. 

Jon kisses him gently. “Thank you.” He sets the honey aside to help Martin out of his shirt. Afterwards he kneads Martin’s breasts, squeezing just hard enough to make Martin gasp. 

“I love looking at you. I love touching you.” Jon says, reaching for the jar. “And I’m going to love getting you absolutely filthy.” 

He drips the honey down Martin’s chest, watching it slowly trickle down to his belly.

“You’re going to be a mess, too,” Martin promises, drawing his finger through the honey on Jon’s chest. 

Jon descends on Martin’s chest, licking the sticky sweetness from his skin, though it’s impossible to get all of it. His breath is hot against Martin’s skin as he latches onto a nipple and sucks desperately. Martin grips the counter, biting his lip as Jon nibbles the sensitive skin, sending shivers up his spine. 

“Fuck, Jon,” he moans, head tilting back. Jon growls and wraps himself around Martin’s body, pinching his other nipple between his sticky fingers. Martin squeezes his thighs together. He’s so wet he’s sure he’s soaked through his pants. 

Jon paws at Martin’s belt. “Please—can I—?”

Martin’s never seen Jon so undone. He nods wordlessly, and Jon unfastens his belt, pulling his trousers down to his knees before burying his face between Martin’s thighs. Martin moans loudly, spreading his legs to give Jon room. 

“You always taste so good,” Jon murmurs, licking him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Martin lets out a low whine as his tongue teases his cock. “I could make you come like this, couldn’t I?”

“Y-yes—” Martin manages. He can’t resist leaning into the contact, rubbing himself against Jon’s mouth. “God, please, Jon—”

“I’ll be nice,” Jon promises, pulling Martin’s boxers down with his honey-slick hands. “You’re being so good for me, after all.” 

Martin’s hand flies to his mouth to stifle his cry as Jon sucks his cock into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. Jon reaches up to tug it away, and Martin relents, moaning openly as Jon licks him. 

“Fuck, Jon, your  _ mouth,”  _ he gasps. “You’re going to make me come all over you.”

Jon moans, trailing his tongue down Martin’s slit before plunging inside him. 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to squirt all over your face? Get it in your hair, on your clothes—” Martin breaks off with a whimper as Jon’s tongue swipes against his cock. 

“Yes, please, Martin…” Jon murmurs, rubbing his hand against Martin’s cock as he delves inside him, licking up every drop of slick as it comes. 

Martin doesn’t last long against the onslaught. He grips Jon’s hair as he comes, loud and messy, all over his beautiful face. Jon eases him through it with little kitten licks of his tongue, dropping a last kiss on Martin’s cock. Martin shivers. 

“Had enough?” Martin asks, stroking a hand through Jon’s honey-smeared hair. 

“Of you? Never.” Jon drops a kiss against his thigh. “Would you be willing to...take me to bed?”

Martin offers a hand up, pulling Jon to his feet so he can kiss him soundly. Jon’s mouth tastes of both honey and Martin’s come. The combination is intoxicating. 

“What do you want me to do to you?” Martin whispers against Jon’s lips.

“I want your cock,” Jon says, nibbling Martin’s lower lip. “I want you to make an even bigger mess of me, and fuck me through the mattress. If...if that’s alright.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Martin murmurs. “It’s more than alright.”

Martin finds himself glad he had the foresight to pack his harness when they fled London. The decision had seemed a bit overly optimistic at the time, but they've both gotten good use out of it. Jon doesn’t usually need to get off, but he loves watching Martin do so. Martin adjusts the straps around his hips and thighs as Jon watches hungrily. Jon's eyes widen as Martin strokes the thick silicone shaft from root to tip. 

"You're overdressed," Martin teases. "May I?"

Jon nods eagerly, and Martin helps him pull his shirt over his head, exposing his pert nipples. Jon's breasts are tiny, especially compared to Martin's hands, but they're incredibly sensitive. Jon moans at the brush of his fingertips against his nipples. 

"You're too clean. I want to get you dirty." 

"Yes, please, Martin…"

Martin grabs the jar and tips it over Jon's chest, watching it flow down the small peaks of his nipples, down his belly, into the neatly trimmed thatch between his thighs. Jon moans, squirming under him.

“You’re so gorgeous like this,” Martin murmurs, pouring honey onto Jon’s cheek and leaning down to lick it off. Jon shivers, tilting his head back so Martin can kiss and nibble his way down his throat. His mouth is filled with the sweetness of honey and Jon’s skin. 

“S-stop teasing…” Jon begs, wrapping his legs around Martin’s waist. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to—?”

Jon rocks his hips upward. “Please, Martin!” 

Martin doesn’t have it in him to resist when Jon is so desperate; slowly, carefully, he slides inside Jon’s tight cunt. Jon moans when he’s finally seated, rocking his hips to get him as deep as possible. 

“Ready?” Martin asks, stroking Jon’s hip. 

Jon responds by pulling him down for another messy kiss. Martin takes that as permission to move, slow deep thrusts that leave both of them breathless. The honey on their skin is somehow sticky and slippery at the same time. It gets everywhere, from the sheets to Martin’s hands and thighs. It feels dirty and deliciously decadent.

“How long have you wanted this?” Martin asks. 

Jon bites his lip. “A-always…”

“Tell me about it,” Martin demands, and Jon shudders. 

“I...when we first met, in the archives. You were always  _ spilling  _ things on yourself, and I wanted to...to make it worse. To make you messy and filthy and  _ mine.  _ I was so ashamed. It wasn’t—  _ ah! _ —appropriate…”

Martin rolls his hips, determined to make Jon lose control. 

“F-fuck!” Jon cries. “Roll over, I want to ride you.” 

Martin rolls over obediently, and Jon has him pinned before he can even finish the motion, straddling his hips and riding him for all he’s worth. Martin grips his hips to steady him, moaning at the pressure on his cock. He reaches down to rub Jon’s cock in time with each thrust, watching Jon’s face contort with pleasure. 

“I’m so close,” Jon says, thighs tightening around Martin. “Please, Martin—”

“Come for me, love,” Martin encourages, rubbing more firmly. 

Jon’s movements become more ragged, less controlled, before he finally comes with a shout. Martin strokes him through it, wringing every last spasm from his body, until Jon lets out an overstimulated whine. 

Afterwards Jon leans down against Martin’s chest, tucking his head under his chin, with the cock still inside of him. Martin wraps his arms around him, overwhelmed by how  _ right  _ Jon feels against his body.

“You really wanted me this whole time?” Martin asks.

Jon buries his face against his neck. “I...I felt so  _ much  _ when I looked at you. I wanted to write it off as anger. But you were beautiful, and I wanted to touch you, and leave my mark all over you. I...was a bit of an ass. I’m sorry for that.” 

“Jonathan Sims, were you pulling my pigtails?” Martin asks incredulously. “Were you going to write me a note telling me to get out of your school?”

“No!” Jon protests. “I. Maybe. I was an idiot.”

Martin kisses his hair. “But you’re  _ my  _ idiot. And I’m yours.” 

Jon leans up to kiss him, slow and soft. “We should probably shower.”

“What, you don’t want to sleep like this? I’m sure you’ll have...sweet dreams.” 

Jon groans, looking mortally offended, while Martin laughs and kisses his frowning face. 

Once they manage to pull themselves apart, Jon gathers the sheets and puts them in the wash while Martin waits for their shower to warm up. Daisy’s shower is small for two people, but neither of them really minds the chance to press together in the warm heat. 

Martin’s favorite part is washing Jon’s hair, working the lather into the dark strands and watching Jon melt with pleasure as he scrubs his scalp. It takes a little more effort with the honey in his hair, but it finally washes away, leaving his hair silky and clean. Martin uses the conditioner Jon likes, a fanciful concoction that smells of lavender and mint. 

“You’re too good to me,” Jon sighs, leaning against Martin’s shoulder. 

“I think I’m just the right amount of good to you,” Martin replies. 

They take their time soaping each other up and rinsing each other off. Jon gets distracted cleaning Martin’s inner thighs and ends up kneeling down to “make sure he’s gotten it all.” Martin grips the shower curtain rod tightly as Jon licks his way inside him, working his way deep, before sucking his cock into his mouth. He’s already worked up from watching Jon writhe on his cock, so it doesn’t take much for him to come, crying Jon’s name as he gushes all over his face. That, too, washes away. 

Once they’ve finished, they turn off the water and towel each other off. Thankfully Daisy has a spare set of sheets. Lying down on the fresh, clean sheets feels almost as good as getting them dirty. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” Jon says. 

“Thank you for being you,” Martin replies, kissing him soundly. They settle in for the night, curled together, safe and warm. Martin falls asleep to the sound of Jon’s steady breathing. 


End file.
